


to teach you (a thing or two)

by pigeonsatdawn



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bad Boy Good Girl, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, SIMP!Kieran, Self-Indulgent, That's it, also elle: writes 8.2k of lauki romance, cliché as fuck, delinquent!kieran, elle: "who tf is a lauki", journalist!lauren because i say so, lmaooooooo who are we kidding even, no beta we die like men, the true definition of "i do what i want", this entire fic is my projection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27755368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonsatdawn/pseuds/pigeonsatdawn
Summary: Oh, to want to kill and kiss a person so badly.Whatever, this is a shit summary.Basically, if PH were a high school bad boy good girl love story. <3That is literally it. I’m not even kidding.
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Comments: 15
Kudos: 87





	to teach you (a thing or two)

**Author's Note:**

> I miss my high school days, I miss reading high school stories, I’m tired of depressive angst and I don’t want to study for my depressing finals, so you get this completely light classic AU written in the a.m. Never would’ve imagined that the high school story I’ve always wanted would write would be a PH fic but here we fucking are.
> 
> I don’t even wanna proofread this, so read at your own risk.
> 
> Title has little meaning; they are all students in this one. Imagine they’re all the same age.
> 
>  **Warning:** maybe blood, maybe bruises, definitely a hell lot of cliché. I shit you not.

**One of these days** , Lauren Sinclair is going to murder someone. Whether with the pen she carried along with her notepad everywhere, or the laptop she spent hours staring at to get the article perfect, or one of her school books, or even just by her bare hands—given the utter stupidity the stupid school seems to radiate, she can probably kill the next person who says something stupid with whatever is in her hands, or otherwise.

Or maybe Lauren Sinclair is just a temperamental person, because the next person who _does_ talk to her isn’t all that stupid. He’s… quite daft, one can suppose. And perhaps that _is_ Lauren Sinclair’s definition of stupid. Poor guy; all he wants to do is confess his attraction to the personification of beauty, but it looks like he’s failed to take notice of the flaming red flag draped above her head, that plainly screams _TURN BACK—_

She is seething when he says, “Would you… would you maybe like to go out for lunch one of these days?”

One of these days, she is _really_ going to murder someone.

Luckily, the ever easygoing Kym Ladell is here, to save the day as always. “Sorry, lad; Lauren here already has a packed schedule, with the daily agenda of hating men and wallowing in self-pity upon the lack of people in her life. It’s really not on you, it’s on her and her unreasonable standards in life.” It doesn’t take another minute for Kym to escort herself and Lauren away from the poor soul, but not before offering him a sympathetic smile that says, ‘I’m sorry, maybe next time; or preferably someone else because my friend is a dumb piece of shit who can’t seem to use her eyes.’

When alone, Kym turns to her best friend and confronts her as peacefully as she can: “You really have to stop rejecting all men like this. _And_ women, really.”

“You’re the one who rejected him,” Lauren points out, but her voice—as is her argument—is weak; she would have snapped at the guy if it isn’t for Kym’s interference, and they both know that. Kym rolls her eyes.

“Do you even have a good reason to be mad at him before he even said anything to you?”

Lauren sighs, running a hand through her hair. “This time, I’ll admit it’s just an untimely coincidence. He didn’t deserve that. But it’s not like I was going to accept the offer, anyway.”

“I’d be surprised if you did,” Kym admits. As an afterthought, she adds, “Partially because I have an ongoing bet with Willame, and I’m betting that you’ll accept a date offer within the next two months, but I didn’t expect it to be _this_ soon.”

Lauren glares at her blue-haired best friend, but does not scream when she inquires, “And his stance?”

“Obviously, not. He thinks you won’t accept _any_ offer until the end of the school year. Thinks you’ll end up as a nun, or something.”

Lauren snorts. “I’m just not really interested in dating _now_ , but I’ll consider dating in the future.”

“Life is short, pal, and all the good people will have been taken by the time you realize that.”

“Are there even any good people, nowadays?” Lauren sighs again, dramatically. She, of all people, knows best just how often people lie for their own goods, how selfish they really are, despite everything they say to maintain their reputation in the goddamned competitive private school of Ardhalis High. 

Kym seems to ponder on it for a while, like she’s going to answer the question genuinely. But again, she’s Kym, so she proceeds to say in her usual aloof manner: “Well too bad, Lauren my love, I have an ongoing bet and I don’t plan on losing my bets, _especially_ not to Willame the idiot. So you can bet I am going to find an acceptable guy for you to date in these next few weeks.”

Lauren rolls her eyes at her best friend’s determination. “If only you’re this ambitious when it comes to school,” she mutters. “Maybe I’ll refuse anyway, just to spite you.”

“Now that wouldn’t be fair, would it? And you’re all about equality.” Kym winks as she heads off to her class, leaving Lauren in the middle of the hallway, laptop and books in hand. 

“One of these days,” she sighs, before heading off the other direction to her own class, in which she knows she’s going to be finishing up her article instead. Lauren Sinclair, after all, already has a lifelong partner—her work, her work, and her work. 

—

 **Now normally Lauren Sinclair** considers it bad practice to immediately jump to assumptions based on trivial things like socioeconomic statuses—after all, these stereotypes cannot encompass each person’s experience, and everyone has their own experiences and such. But when she sees the guy named Kieran White who always finds himself drawing in detention, she can’t help but wonder how he, of all people, managed to get a spot in the competitive admission into the high school.

She knows she is not alone in her thoughts when she enters the room where detention is held, and sees the scowling face of Mrs. Jacques. She is the one to supervise the detention today, and the only student in detention is Kieran White, yet she holds such an opinion against him that her mood is in the dumps upon the sight of him alone. Then again, Mrs. Jacques isn’t much of a pleasant person, so perhaps Lauren herself shouldn’t align her opinions with the teacher too much.

Mrs. Jacques is, unfortunately, also the Student Advisor whom she needs to get her article peer checked by. (The workings of the Student Council in this high school make little sense to her, but she does what she does to get her a good spot in the Universities she plans to attend.) When Lauren enters the quiet classroom, Kieran White proceeds to excuse himself to the restroom.

Mrs. Jacques sends him a suspicious glare. Lauren found herself in agreement unknowingly; she, too, will not have let such a skeptical guy leave the detention room. Who knows what he could be doing.

But Kieran White raises his hands, and says, “I don’t leave without my belongings, especially my sketchpad. You know that, at least. And you have my phone.”

Under the irrefutable argument, Mrs. Jacques lets out a noncommittal grunt. White’s expression is smug when he looks at Lauren, but unlike those of the numerous men she hates, his smile seems a little too forced, and it looks more like a grimace than a smirk. Lauren considers the possibility that he may have something against her; it’s not much of a secret that White comes from a lower class than the rest of the school. One among many wonders, his enrolment. How did someone like him end up in the school, given his rebellious tendencies? Nevertheless, it won’t be the first time someone hates her for having the wealth and privilege she does, for there are other students in the school with similar situations as White, except she is quite sure they are admitted in through academic excellence and scholarships, and they actually put the effort in maintaining good behavior.

It’s only when he closes the door when she gets grounded back into reality, realizing the reason why she’s there in the first place. She shakes her head, reminding herself that it does no good to think about someone of so little importance to her life. She hands over the USB drive containing her completed article to Mrs. Jacques, telling her what she needs to hear.

“It’s good to know that there are still some dignified people like yourself, Sinclair. I hope this time your article is not as bad as the one before.”

It takes Lauren a lot of patience to hold her tongue from lashing out. It’s not that she thinks highly of her own article; it’s more to the fact that Mrs. Jacques seems to find it pertinent to point out things that _shouldn’t_ be a problem. The only thing she does note that Lauren considers a problem is the occasional logic jump, which sometimes she overlooks, because most of the time, the source of veracity she considers is her own lie-detecting ability, which she can’t really explain to other people. But Mrs. Jacques is biased in so many ways, believing that some things are not to be mentioned to the people because it may hurt or offend people, which really is not the purpose of a journalist. To write a not opinionated article is to tell the truth, regardless of how people perceive said outcome. 

But when Mrs. Jacques begins reading through the article, her face turning sour, she knows that the Student Advisor does not pay mind to any of these verities, and she prepares for a long lecture. When she finishes, all Lauren Sinclair has left is to nod, to keep quiet, because ultimately her future is in the hands of the Student Advisor, the teachers, the _authorities_. There isn’t much choice that she has.

When she walks out with hunched shoulders, the first thing she notices is that the hallways are already empty. It makes sense, given that the time is late towards the evening. But then she notices a figure walking away, and it is none other than Kieran White, who is supposed to be in detention.

See, Lauren has tried not to hate the man, especially when she doesn't know much about him. But there is so much one can deny when there has been so much evidence in front of her—his always bloodied knuckles, him skipping class often, him being in detention a lot and now even planning on skipping detention—it all shows that he pays little value in his education, something so many people have fought for, and to do what? Partake in violent activities? And the fact that irks her most seems to be that people overlook all these in favor of his attractive face and his often so dazzling smile that sways the men and women off their feets. She oh-so-wishes to simply smack the smile away, and one of these days, perhaps she will.

“Are you planning on skipping detention?” Lauren calls out, not liking the sight of blatant defiance against the school rules. “Was what you said just a bluff?” Lauren takes note of how he, even without knowing her abilities, has managed to utter a fact so closely disguised as a promise, when all he’s done is tell a general truth that leaves room for exceptions. Particularly clever, this one.

“I was giving you some privacy, Miss Sinclair,” he says; his words mocking her of her status, and she hates it. Maybe it is petty, but she would have assumed that nobody likes to be mocked in that way, either. He continues explaining, “I didn’t think you’d have appreciated me barging in on your... interesting conversation with Mrs. Jacques.”

“Did you hear anything?” Lauren questioned, beginning to feel the blood rise to her head. In anger or in shame, it isn’t so clear.

“I told you, I left for a reason.”

“Were you eavesdropping?” she repeated, taking a dangerous step closer to White, her voice close to venom.

“You wouldn’t really consider ‘accidentally hearing some words’ as eavesdropping now, would you?”

Lauren immediately proceeds to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him even closer to her than he is. “If I hear you say shit about what she said to anybody else, if you even _dare_ pull off something like this again, I will make sure you don’t enjoy your life in Ardhalis High as much as you do now. You may think you’re free to do shit once you’re _in_ , but I can make sure you never get _out_ of here.”

“‘Course you can,” White scoffed, before yanking her wrist away. “And you think you know everything just because you hear the things others don’t, but you don’t know shit.”

Lauren blinks. “And how do you—”

“You’re not the only one who’s been paying attention,” he says before proceeding to head back towards the classroom, resuming his detention. It’s interesting how he, of all people, seems to believe in her peculiar ability, she thinks. But that doesn’t make him any better of a person, and Lauren isn’t one to fall for delinquents.

—

 **There’s this thing about** the human mind and perception where, once you take notice of something, it gets hard to unsee it. It’s not like Lauren hasn’t taken note of Kieran White’s existence, but she hasn’t really noticed just how much classes they share. She’s particularly surprised that he’s in her Psychology class, since he doesn’t seem very much interested in the nature of humans; he doesn’t seem to be interested in _anything_ other than drawing. Then again, to be fair, he does have to take some electives, so maybe like half the other students in the grade, he’s decided to take Psych just for the hell of it. The fact that he’s doodling in class seems to prove her hypothesis.

“Can anyone point out the flaws in these conclusions?” Mr. March is saying, and Lauren snaps to see the slide he’s put up. They are currently discussing valid research methods, and while Lauren thinks it’s mostly common sense, perhaps there is more to it than that, since she doesn’t think there seems to be a mistake in this example Mr. March is pointing at. She only knows there is a flaw because he wouldn’t have asked about it otherwise.

She pretends to be thinking deeply about it—it isn’t really pretending if she actually _is_ wondering about it—by concentrating heavily on the conclusions presented ahead of her, hoping she will not get called to give her opinion. It’s not so much as being embarrassed, she just doesn’t really like admitting that she doesn’t know the answer to something. Especially after her recent altercation with White.

But of course, Lauren Sinclair has the worst luck a human could possibly ever have, so Mr. March calls her out to try and answer. Maybe he assumes she would have an answer. She usually does, anyway. It’s also a reason Mr. March particularly favors her as a student, except it plays against her favor today. “Ms. Sinclair, do you have a possible idea as to a flaw in these conclusions?”

Lauren’s voice is small when she says, “Uh, is the researcher presenting it in a biased manner?”

“You’re not completely wrong,” Mr. March says kindly, “but you don’t seem too sure yourself what you mean by that, do you?” Lauren’s lost face prompts him to laugh good-naturedly. “You’re not in trouble, Sinclair. I haven’t exactly taught you about the error present in this study. Would anyone else like to try? Mr. White, perhaps you could offer us some opinions, instead of keeping your head buried in your sketchbook?”

Murmuring is heard around the class, maybe because it’s not too well known that Kieran White, the resident hot bad boy, enjoys drawing in his free time. He seems unfazed when he lifts his head, takes a few seconds to scan the slides, before presenting his opinion in a completely calm manner: “There’s nothing wrong with the statistics, but the cut-off rule in which the researcher decides what becomes significant is wrong; too liberal in this case, so the conclusions cannot be trusted.”

There is silence for a few seconds—even Mr. March himself seems pleasantly speechless—before the murmurings resumed, this time because they’re entranced by this newfound side of Kieran White. Lauren thinks, perhaps there _is_ a reason he takes Psych, and perhaps there _is_ a good reason he’s been admitted into this school despite his lower socioeconomic status. 

She still doesn’t like that he slacks off and seems to be picking fights here and there, though.

“Well said, Mr. White,” Mr. March muses. Then, to the class, he explains: “Statistics is an important thing in most sciences, but is an especially tricky matter in Psychology because you need it to prove theories. There is a decision every researcher must make in handling these statistics: which is whether this effect is significant or not. Most researchers go with the standard cut-off, one that has been agreed upon by a collective group of people, to make the conclusions as less biased as possible.

“Now this is important, because otherwise, like the researcher in this example, you may be spreading conclusions that are not so accurate. As you can see from the results of the research, there isn’t actually much difference between the grades of students who consume caffeine and students who don’t. But because the standard in which she decides when something becomes significant is so small, this small difference is considered significant and the researcher reports that caffeine does make people have an increase in grades, which is not so sound of a theory as you may have an idea of. If this kind of research is released into the world, people may just start chugging caffeine because they believe they’ll get better grades, which is not really the case.”

And as if he knows something she doesn’t, Mr. March looks at Lauren directly when he says, “This is why reporting your findings in an accurate manner is important. Statistics are there and unchanged, but the way you interpret things can make the whole difference.” He then faces back to the class, continuing with the lesson: “This decision making process takes into account the cost/benefit analysis, where…”

Lauren subconsciously turns her head to Kieran White’s direction, and finds him already looking at her. His face is not so smug, though she feels like he should be—after all, she can’t help shake the heavy weight dragging her stomach down. Kieran White truly is something else, and deep down she knows he may be right—there is a lot she does not know yet, especially when it comes to the enigma that is Kieran White himself.

—

 **Perhaps Kieran White is** a harbinger of all things bad, the omen of bad luck, the personified entity of misfortune, because ever since she interacted with him, Lauren keeps finding herself in situations she does not ever expect to find herself in. Even now, where she isn’t with the man, she encounters a particularly disturbing scene. Except, it may very well answer the questions that have been plaguing her mind in the past few days. 

She is walking with William Hawkes from their last class, heading to the cafeteria while talking about their Student Council duties, when they hear the brief sound of a scream that is soon muffled. Lauren knows pain when she hears one, and her eyes immediately widen when she registers what could have been going on. William, on the other hand, while surprised, seems to take it in a much more calm manner than she ever can, holding her frantic self back. Lauren looks at him with desperate eyes. “William, someone is being _bullied_ in the school halls.”

“And I, as prefect, will go deal with the situation. You stay here,” William says sternly. But Lauren insists on seeing for herself what is going on, because curiosity bests her too easily. And perhaps Lauren should not have been so curious, because when they reach the scene, Lauren creeping by the walls upon William’s request, she witnesses a scene she does not expect to ever see.

She can only watch as she sees an underclassmen—Wood, she thinks, was his name—get beaten up by the men from her own grade, the people who she once thought had some dignity through the fact that they had significantly high status. Being condescending is one thing, and she knows it is something many of them are guilty about; occasionally, even she is. But to the point of having to _physically_ bring them down is beyond low, even for them. Lauren never has much respect for men, but seeing this has utterly demolished whatever hope she has left. 

William, she supposes, is one of the good few men left, or at least that’s what she’ll rather believe. For now, that is. At least he still has the initiative to go up to those bullies and use his authority as prefect to make them stop. That tells her _something_ , that alone already sets him apart from those scumbags. But when he comes back to Lauren after dealing with the beaten up kid, he sighs, and Lauren becomes curious.

“How long has this been going on?”

“A while now,” William admits, even though he doesn’t like the truth, and knows Lauren will not, either. He knows, though, that no matter how ugly the truth, Lauren values truth above all else, so he doesn’t try to lie with her. “Those boys need to learn to grow up and stop tormenting these kids like they’re playthings.”

“It’s—it’s been going on for a while, and I never knew about this?” Lauren questions, ridiculed, feeling her temper begin to rise. She isn’t sure exactly who she’s mad at—the guys, for having done such a heinous crime, or William and every other bystander, who have known and have not spoken a word against it.

“You have to be realistic, Lauren,” William argues calmly. “There’s not much you can do; if they treat those from the lower class like they’re not human, you can bet they don’t have much rationality going on.”

“Do you expect me to just—stay _silent_ about it, then?” 

“ _You_ can’t run straight into them, yelling at them not to do such things. They’re most likely just as sexist as they are classist. So let me, someone of the same class and the same gender, and a prefect, handle this.”

Lauren raises an eyebrow. “If this has been going on for a while, does that mean that your efforts aren’t so effective as you’d like to believe?”

“For now, there isn’t a better method,” William sighs, as they head into the cafeteria, seeing the sight of Kym Ladell waving her hand grandly to sign where she is. “All I can tell you is, the ways you’re thinking of are _not_ going to work against them. That’s the unfortunate fact. For now, this’ll have to do.”

They end their conversation as they join the youngest of the trio, but Lauren can no longer digest lunch as she normally can. She can’t stop the feelings of disgust that pools in her stomach, and the friction of cogwheels in her mind, running on full speed, processing ten trains of thought at once. Now she is beginning to have better explanations for her theories, except for once, she dreads being right.

—

 **For someone who holds** prejudice against people who break school rules, Lauren Sinclair has a particular proclivity to ignore those very school rules in pursuit of the truth she wants. When she sees the backside of Kieran White, headed for the parking lot, without thinking twice, she follows suit, eager to test her possible hypotheses.

She is totally not prepared to see the wreck done to his oh-so-beautiful face, and for once, she does not feel the urge to punch him so bad. 

If anything, she finds herself worried. Kieran White, surprised by her presence anywhere outside school grounds, forgets that he looks like a bloodied mess, and looks at her with his full face in view. Lauren takes the time to feel, to empathize with the pain he must have gone through, to feel the anger from knowing what could possibly be the reason behind his scars. For once, she does not question why his knuckles could be bruised; for once, she is more focused on the fact that White himself is also in pain.

When bruised and beaten up, crouched on the ground with hands on knees, the Kieran White who once exudes an aura of confidence does not seem all that big anymore. Lauren does not find herself ever sympathizing with this man, but she seems to have been discovering new things so often lately.

She still has… some pride, though, so she looks down on him as she stands, saying sternly: “You need to get it checked out in the infirmary.”

“Being out of school in school hours, just to check on my safety?” White chuckles huskily, throwing his head back. “At this point, you gotta admit you’ve fallen for me.”

“Do not test me, White.”

“Ah, the threats are back.” He proceeds to open his backpack. “Why the sympathy to begin with?”

She pauses a beat, fingers digging her folded arms. “Maybe you think I’m a self-entitled brat, but I have just as much human empathy as the next human. Except, maybe, the bastards who did that to you.”

“You’re not much different from said bastards,” he mutters with his head ducked, before stopping himself, staring at her as if caught saying something he shouldn’t have. Lauren feels the pang in her chest before she even registers this, because she knows what he says is truth—and not just because _he_ believes so. Yet, it repulses her to think so.

Perhaps that is even more the reason that she feels responsible for what is happening to Kieran White, as is what happened to the boy from the other day. “Go to the infirmary; those wounds will leave nasty scars if you don’t treat it early on.”

He stares at her, deadpanned. Then he takes out a pouch from his backpack. “How exactly would you explain such gnarly bruises to the school nurses?” He lifts the pouch, and she assumes it is his makeshift version of a first aid kit.

That will have to do for now, she supposes. She sighs and crouches in front of him, prying the pouch off his grip. Unzipping it, she finds some cotton and antiseptics, and begins to dab them gently on his bloody mess of a face. White winces here and there, but he does not seem to be more hurt by the sting of alcohol than he is startled by her softness with him. 

“Sinclair, you don’t—”

“Lauren,” she says absentmindedly, focused on cleaning up his wounds.

“Well— _Lauren_ , you don’t have to tend my wounds for me. It’s not my first time getting beaten up.”

It takes a while for Lauren to respond, because when she is focused on her task, she shuts down every other running function to focus on that one task. When she’s done with the antiseptic, she puts the bottle down and looks him solemnly in the eyes, their face closer than ever before. “Take this as a simple act for humanity, or an apology for being insensitive and judging you without knowing you enough. Your choice. Mine is to help you regardless of what you think I should be doing.”

“There’s no arguing against you, is there?” he chuckles again, and the way he does so is so relaxed and prolonged, its sound unties the nervous knots deep in Lauren’s gut. She hates this effect he has on her, but alas, one can only be so resistant towards the attractive features of another human.

Lauren picks up some band-aids and begins taping some over the small cuts. “It’s my one defining quality, they say. My stubbornness.”

“I think your redeeming quality, if anything, is that you’re stubbornly _good_.”

They pause again, the intensity in their split-second gaze enough to last an eternity. Lauren looks away then, clearing her throat. “I haven’t been very good to you, now, have I?”

“You don’t have good reason to be good to me, Lauren. I doubt you’ve missed the sight of my bloodied knuckles.”

She raises an eyebrow at this. “Are they not from self-defense?”

He scoffs, but gives her an amused smirk, one way too attractive to plainly hate, even though Lauren used to find that an easy feat. “If you think I wait to get punched before punching their slimy faces myself, then your expectations of me are clearly far off the roof.”

Lauren glares at him, but she cannot disagree: “I probably would’ve punched them at any given moment too, after what I saw the other day.”

“Ah. No wonder it’s easy for you to take pity on me.”

“Are we not going to do anything about this?” Lauren asks, sighing as she sits down in front of him, inspecting his face for any more wounds she may have missed.

“We?” White cocks his head in question.

“I—”

He then cuts her off, breaking into laughter. “Princess Lauren, there’s nothing you can do about it. Leave the bloody fights to me, and you go live whatever life you have.”

“You can’t just expect me to sit here as you, along with so many other kids, get beaten up for—why _do_ they even beat you up?”

At this, Kieran White falls quiet, and says nothing for a while. Then, he stands up, picking up his backpack in a smooth motion. “Thank you for patching me up, really,” he says, as if he hasn’t heard her question. “I hope we don’t run into each other like this again,” he says, as if he doesn’t know she quite literally chased him down.

“Oi,” she calls, glaring as she does. “If you’re thankful, at least answer the question.”

“All that you need to know, is that there is a reason why there is a distinction between you people and us to begin with,” he says in one last glance, “so don’t spare too much sympathy for the poor.” When he leaves, Lauren regains her temper, that old friend of hers, burning even wider than ever, smoke coming out of her ears.

If he so much as _thinks_ that that, of all things, is going to deter her from finding out the truth, then he’s going to be proven oh, so wrong. Because Lauren knows herself best, and ultimately, she is an inherently stubborn person in nature.

—

 **Maybe she’s careless** , or maybe she’s wrong in the belief that not many people pay attention to their surroundings. Either way, she finds herself cornered by the rich snobby kids one day, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why.

“You know, for someone who rejects boys a lot, you seem to be hanging an awful lot around that rotten delinquent,” the ‘gangleader’, Ollie Evans, says as he imposes his ‘rank’ over by standing his full height, looking down at her as he does, with his back-up minions prepared to defend him with their lives behind him. Lauren resists the urge to roll her eyes at the stupid scene before her. Even High School Musical is not this dramatic.

“Is it to your concern with whom I hang out with?” Lauren retorts instead, not feeling the need to explain herself.

Evans cocks his head slowly, a clear sign that says ‘ _you dare challenge me?_ ’, but Lauren is not one to heed the signs, ever. “ **_Oh, surely not, we’re just curious, is all._ ** You’d understand; you’re the journalist wannabe, after all.”

“Then you must know, **_it’s all under the name of investigative journalism,_ **” Lauren says, but even she has not realized that she no longer truly believes in that statement. She blinks a few times, thinking of what that implies. Has she really begun to care for Kieran White, rather than simply being curious of him?

“If you say so,” Evans shrugs, before leaning in dangerously close to Lauren, and she fears what he may do to her, but she isn’t one to back down. “Though I should warn you, bad things happen to people who pry too much into things that they don’t have the right to know about.”

“And who are you to determine who deserves to hear the truth?”

“Haven’t you heard of the term, privacy? If it doesn’t concern you, you have no right to know it. It’s that simple. Or do you ignore these ‘under the name of investigative journalism’?”

“And since when do you have a right to physically abuse people at all?” Lauren asks back, knowing she’s stepped over the border and has practically raised the signal declaring war. “If you don’t respect others’ rights, why should I, yours?”

He lifts an angry fist instinctively, but stops himself. Then, he gives a smile so forced, even Lauren herself feels pained to watch. “You’re lucky your _uncle_ is a coordinator in this school. Otherwise, you’d have been _dead_ by now.”

“Why, are you scared of punching girls now?” Lauren taunts. Evans was quick to lunge out his other hand to punch her, but Lauren takes hold of it, and proceeds to jab her knee up his torso, making him reel backwards in shock and pain. “If this is how the ‘higher class’ acts like, then I’d rather not associate myself with it. So treat me like you would any other lower class kids.” She prepares to leave, but he stops her by speaking.

“Pretty bold, for a woman who’s daft,” he spits. “If you were from a lower class, you wouldn’t even be here _at all_. You’ve got nothing; not a brain, not a decent personality. You won’t be of use at all.”

Lauren pauses, turning back slightly, heeding the meaning of his words. She doesn’t mind too much that he’s insulted her, maybe because they’re partly true, but mostly because she’s gotten the answer she needs. “So you’ve been slaving them and taking credit for their work?”

“Some of them, but as I’ve proven, not all are so stupid,” Evans answers, words all truth. “Some we just have to make sure stay under our level. Make sure they don’t get out of line. There are boundaries between classes for a reason, Sinclair. You don’t want to go around breaking the harmony already built in.”

Lauren thinks his word choice is absurd, but she does not see any more point in arguing against someone with a very backwards mind. So she leaves Evans and his gang of idiots behind, with a newfound empathy for the man she once judged without much knowledge, and a revitalized determination to actually _do something_ about this unacceptable injustice.

—

 **Apparently, the world hates** to see Lauren Sinclair and Kieran White together, maybe because they know the power held by these two combined can only be described as catastrophic. It takes a while for Lauren to find Kieran White, her plans being blocked by a number of factors such as her packed classes and White’s tendency to skip those classes. The gods eventually take pity on the two idiots and utter their apology by letting Lauren miraculously find him in the lockers, way after school hours have ended.

Lauren is not particularly in her best mood. She has just gotten out of a Student Council meeting where they have some conflicting opinions, and she has the task to note every single one of these opposing factors, so her brain is fried. Not only that, the recent revelation of the true personality of those bratty boys who think they own the school just because they have money— _God_ , there’s nothing more she wanted to do than burn their heads. She never has patience to begin with, but this understandably fires her up more than necessary. And even if she knows William does not partake in such atrocious acts, she still can’t look at William quite the same, maybe because he thought it’ll be fine to keep this from her all this time. How do you see something like this and just… not care?

It’s about 5:30 p.m., and she definitely does not expect to be seeing Kieran White still in the school hallways at this time. She leans against the locker on one side, his view of her blocked by the door of the locker. When he shuts the door, he takes notice of her, and raises an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re purposely talking to me out of spite?”

“ **_You’re not of that much worth to my time,_ **” Lauren scoffs, but swallows the lump in her throat when she realizes the lie in her voice. “I just got out of a StuCo meeting.”

“Good for you. What business do you have with me again?”

Lauren shifts so that her whole back is against the lockers, and she rolls her eyes. “A _fucking_ lot, apparently. I talk to you once, and people assume we have something going on.”

“Well of course,” he drawls, moving to stand across her, facing her with his hands crossed. “People tend to notice when one who gets chased and keeps rejecting, starts to keep chasing. The question, now, is why do you keep chasing me?”

It takes a while for Lauren to find her voice. In her moments of hesitation, Kieran White cocks his head, face contorting to worry. “Sinclair—”

“Lauren,” she corrects.

“ _Lauren_ , what did you do?”

“Why do you always assume it’s something _I_ did, White?” Lauren glares up at him, sulking in annoyance.

He blinks, before saying, “If you insist on me calling you Lauren, then call me Kieran,” he clarifies first. Then his face seems to shift in realization. “Did they—”

“No punching, if that’s what you were wondering,” Lauren states. “They just cornered me to ‘satisfy their curiosities’, as they claim it.”

“And you definitely riled them up some way, didn’t you?” Kieran narrows his eyes at her, and she purses her lips in a straight line. Kieran sighs. “I told you to just—ignore all this,” he chastises.

“How do you expect me to just _ignore_ this, Kieran?” Lauren whines, and in her exasperation she pushes herself off the locker to stand at her full height, her body inching closer to his. “How do you expect me to just—pretend like this blatant discrimination, this _harassment_ doesn’t exist? If _I_ get harassed just for _talking_ to you, I can’t imagine how much more _you guys_ are being harassed—and for what? For being smart? For being poor? For things you don’t even have control of? For trying to guard your spot in this school that wasn’t handed down to you on a silver platter, the way it was to _them_? The least we can do is be civilized, but those fucking airheads—”

Kieran snorts, his lips in an amused smirk. She cannot deny how alluring he looks with it, but she is more pissed that he finds her frustration _amusing_. “Why are you finding this funny?”

“Oh, no, you were doing great, until you cursed; it just sounds so off coming from someone who’s like, the epitome of grace, a Sinclair; but at the same time so fitting because you’re _Lauren_ Sinclair.” Kieran is still laughing; Lauren isn’t quite sure whether she wants to slap the smile off his face or kiss it senseless.

Wait, _what?_

“Leave it to you to focus on my choice of words when I’ve just been ranting about an important matter that applies more so to _you_ than it does to me,” Lauren groans. “Regardless, I believe I’ve made my point. I _am_ going to do something about this, regardless of what you believe I should be doing. None of you deserve to be treated like this; _no one_ deserves to be treated like this.”

“Lauren, you’re crazy,” Kieran states simply. “Even after them confronting you, you _still_ think it’s a good idea to go against them?”

“Is that not why you fight them?” She takes one of his hands, scars on his knuckles still fresh from a recent altercation, bringing it next to their faces. “Because you know you shouldn’t let them hold this power over you? Because there’s no better way to get the words through their thick skulls other than punching your way through them?”

Kieran White stares at Lauren Sinclair intensely, eyes boring into her desperate ones. She raises an eyebrow; a challenge. 

He takes it, dipping his head to align with hers, lips fitting like puzzle pieces, a true harmony. The hand she held up quickly makes its way to her neck and hers fly to his chest, and in his passion she takes a step back, making a loud sound as her body clashes against the locker. She has to strain her neck to maintain the kiss, but she doesn’t mind so much, not when… not when it feels too _right_ to kiss him like this.

She then wonders, how could she ever have hated him so much before. He could have been wondering the same, because he says between kisses, “For someone who hates me with such passion, you sure are putting just as much passion in this kiss.”

Lauren only tugs harder, her fingers buried amongst his luscious hair, nails digging through his skull. Kieran moans into her mouth, before pulling apart to say, “You’re a violent one yourself, aren’t you?”

“Maybe consider: shutting up?”

He complies, not that it takes much to make him quiet, when their lips quite literally serve as magnets. It takes them a while to finish their steamy exchange, and when they part, Lauren cannot lift her head from the ground, very aware of the heat under her skin. “So she _can_ be shy,” Kieran muses, his voice husky. 

Oh, to want to kill and kiss a person so badly.

“What do you plan to do now, anyway?” Kieran asks seriously, catching Lauren’s attention once more. “Now that you know about this; now that you’ve seen what happens if we try to do anything, what _can_ you do in regards to this matter?”

Lauren sighs, playing with her hair. “To be honest… I’m not sure. We have to find a way to prevent them from being able to do so. If they think that their socioeconomic class protects them, then maybe we can threaten this power of theirs somehow… Maybe we can pull the authorities?”

Kieran ruffles her hair softly, and she gives him an annoyed pout, which only causes him to grin cheekily while squishing her cheeks. “Oh, Lauren, you innocent child. You _really_ think the authorities don’t already know about this?” He gives her a knowing look, and immediately she gets what he’s trying to say—she thinks back to that first encounter of theirs, where she was submitting her draft of the article for the Student Council. Mrs. Jacques criticized her argument plenty, most of it because it was _too honest_ , because it’d give a bad rep to the school, to the Student Council. To her, the articles served the purpose of giving the Student Council and the school a better name, rather than informing exactly what has been going on around the school.

Then, perhaps, if she writes an article doing just what articles are supposed to—tell the truth—and somehow gets it published for people to read… One person may not be enough to stop the deep-rooted toxicity of the upper class beliefs, but if _everybody_ knows the truth…

“I might just have an idea of how to end this,” Lauren says, smirking like the devil would. 

—

 **“Well, well.** An interesting hypocrite, aren’t you?” Kieran White says as quietly as he can. “To think you were mad over me eavesdropping, only for you to go around and do the same.”

“Is it really eavesdropping, if I just happened to walk by and overhear the conversation?” Lauren shoots back, winking as she says it. Kieran rolls his eyes, but is biting his lower lip to suppress a grin. Lauren then proceeds to take out a tiny camera, and Kieran raises his brows in appreciation. 

“Pretty sure this is a breach of privacy, but I’m amazed nonetheless.”

“There’s a solid line between privacy and ‘secretly harassing other students to save your face’,” Lauren argues her stance. “It’s not a breach of privacy when it’s essential to protect and prevent the lives of others from being harassed like,” her face twists in disgust as she takes a peek of her peers from behind the wall, “ _that._ ”

“Can’t argue with that,” Kieran nods. 

“This is why, Kieran, you don’t _immediately_ resort to fists when dealing with your problems.”

“Says the girl who grabbed my collar on our first interaction—”

“Shh,” Lauren hushes him, because she doesn’t need to be reminded of her initial foolishness, and also because she has begun recording the scene that she plans to use as evidence. Kieran makes a zipping motion on his lips, but he is still smirking at her, and she rolls her eyes.

How she ended up working with _him_ , of all people, she does not know. But she supposes she has to admit that Kieran is as best of a partner she can get in this mission of hers, especially because he of all people understands best what it is like to be in the situation of those who experience the harassment of the ’lower class’ students.

They spend the next few weeks compiling evidence in their free time and writing up the perfect article, one unlike the ones she’s done before. Sometimes, they go and kick ass too, literally, because while they undertake this project, some action still needs to be taken to prevent too many broken bones. (Or maybe because Kieran likes punching the scumbags, and Lauren is really bad at holding back her temper. No one cares; they’re doing the cool, necessary thing.) They’re working on the article in her house when she tells him: “I’m not submitting this to Mrs. Jacques.”

“I mean, of course. She won’t let something like this be published, ever.” Kieran leans back against the chair, arms crossed. “So how exactly do you plan on releasing this? You haven’t told me?”

“I mean, we can always just post it on the internet,” Lauren shrugs.

“...I’m sensing there’s a but?”

“ _But_ … people don’t really trust things on the internet these days, and they can even block the article locally in the school if it really comes down to that. Plus, it’s not as fun.” Lauren smirks, her eyes still trained on her laptop screen.

Kieran snorts, but smirks along. “So what do you plan on doing with this?”

“I’m actually thinking of submitting it to, like, an official news site? Somewhere with an already established platform.”

Kieran’s eyes widen. At first Lauren hesitates, afraid that he thinks it’s an absurd idea, but when his lips part into a grin, she knows it must not be that. “Are you really? Lauren, that’s _fucking awesome_. What made you think of doing it?”

Lauren flushes, looking back to her laptop. “I mean, aside from the bigger audience thing, they just generally have more power when it comes to influence. They’ll also be more likely to actually accept the news to begin with, especially considering the competition with other schools; they’re definitely looking for _anything_ to bring down the name of Ardhalis High considering we’re one of the top private schools around. The money, if I get any, is really just a bonus, not to mention it’ll probably help my resume when applying to universities. It’s a long shot, but one definitely worth taking.”

“That, it definitely is,” Kieran agrees, and he hops off the chair to plant a kiss on Lauren’s forehead. She melts at the tenderness; no one has ever been so supportive for her passion like this, especially her passion for _this_ particular topic. Then his face turns to worry, and he says, “You know, if this does tarnish the school’s name, _you’ll_ be getting the brunt of the negativity. Are you sure you want to go down this way?”

“Oh, Kieran, honey, my name has been tarnished since the day I began hanging around _you_ ,” Lauren coos. “Don’t worry about me. It doesn’t matter what happens to _me_ if your situation, along with so many other people’s, will improve through what we’re doing.”

Kieran gives her that look again, one full of thought, raw with emotion, and sometimes it is so strong that Lauren wants to look away, unable to take the power of the blinding glint in his eyes. But she knows she shouldn’t be shying away from the truth, and so she takes his gaze with equal prowess. And like the undeniable attraction between the north pole and the south pole, they gravitate towards each other in a clashing force, kissing passionately like there is no tomorrow.

“I’m so glad you’re not like one of them,” Kieran breathes, and Lauren scoffs.

“I’m quite offended you even _thought_ I could be.”

“Did I ever, really? I drew you in that first encounter we had.”

Lauren pulls back to look at him in his gorgeous cerulean eyes. “You… _drew_ me?”

Kieran nods. “Multiple times, love. I have them at home; I’ll show you one of these days. Maybe I can draw you while you work on your article.”

“You do know how to charm a girl, don’t you?”

“Nah, I’ve just memorized the manual on how to please a certain Lauren Sinclair.”

“Well, better make use of what you learned, delinquent,” Lauren teases. Kieran White is unfortunately a sucker for all things Lauren Sinclair, and so he complies, as always. In the midst of the chaos, Kieran murmurs in her ear, “Thank you, Lauren.”

“For?”

“Choosing to do this, even when the odds are against you.”

Lauren smiles, head buried in the curve of his neck. “No, if anything, I should be thanking you.”

“Why?”

“For teaching me the truth.”

—

_ William Hawkes hands Kym Ladell three $20 bills, as part of their bet. _

_ “This is why you don’t bet against me,  _ Willame _.” _

_ He is annoyed, but he does not back off. He will not stop until he makes a bet that she can’t win. _

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, bitches. I wrote a High School AU of no substance just because I felt like it. Take that.
> 
> A lot to list, as always.
> 
> Acknowledgments, because apparently I’ve a hell lot of them. 
> 
>   * This was inspired by oblivioluna’s [Dove and Tiger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499891) and rabbit_hearted’s [Show Pony](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634643). I’m really sorry if there’s accidental idea/format transference in here (see this is why I don’t read while I’m in the middle of writing something else—I just get _too_ _inspired_ ), but the general thing I was inspired about was mainly to write an AU, because even though I have some AUs, they’re not legit. (People be like oh yeah see AUs in unique interesting settings, meanwhile I sit here with a High School Freaking AU. SMH.)
>   * Thanks to the numerous Chick Lit stories I’ve read back in the day, but in particular: Ctrl-Z, a mexican Netflix series, and [Whistleblower](https://www.wattpad.com/story/147944921-whistleblower-%E2%9C%93), a Wattpad story by Kate Marchant. Yes, there are good Wattpad stories, once in the past, and it stuck to my mind in particular because of reasons similar to the kind of point of this fic. (Apparently even the main character’s name is Laurel—okay. I absolutely recommend this story, by the way.) Both these stories have the main girl as a people-watcher, maybe that was where I derived Lauren’s mannerisms from. (Kieran, well, let’s just say he’s inspired from, uh, the bad boy good girl fics. No, obviously not. I hate those fics.)
>   * I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t already passionate about the importance of journalism and, lately, how it seemed to be too direly flawed because of bias, but I attribute some of the passion to [fwootloops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwootloops), who gave an amazing presentation on [Discord](https://discord.gg/bV2JQSg) highlighting censorship, and noted the ways in which the Royals have buried truth through the press. It’s really an amazing presentation, the idea remained in my head for so long up to this point, which is why I decided to go down the journalism road in the AU, even though I honestly can’t imagine Lauren being anything other than a law enforcer when I started thinking about it. 
>   * Title is inspired by me scrolling down three AO3 pages of another fandom’s fics. I just wanted to be dramatic. I was going to make it meaningful; I thought of Class of Lies, which sounded cool (and class has a double meaning and I love double meanings), except it probably did because it’s an actual drama which is really cool. I also thought of the words watchdog and underdog, but my brain went to “who let the dogs out” because my brain is broken. So I said fuck it and went down the classic title naming system, that has no good meaning.
> 

> 
> ANYWAY. I don’t know what possessed me to make this fic, but I just wanted to get it over with and my mind wouldn’t let me stop before I finished it, so this is now Done and Gone. IDEK what’s the point of this fic. Just. Entertainment? Is this even entertaining? Random fun fact: I wanted to be a journalist. Is this a self-insert? Not really. But it is definitely self-indulgent. Whatever.
> 
> Okay, apparently I was planning to say more here to justify this shit 8k fic (why the fuck is this so long again?) but apparently I’m brain dead and I actually need to go study for my finals now. So. Um. (LMAO catch me dropping psych references in my writing instead of actually studying the things I need to be studying.)
> 
> Thanks for reading, see you, and comments and kudos are always appreciated <3 


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